


me and my plus one at the afterlife

by ElasticElla



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Drug Use, F/F, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2015-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3761965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElasticElla/pseuds/ElasticElla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erica's death hits her hard, and doesn't stop hitting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	me and my plus one at the afterlife

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted [here](http://elasticella.tumblr.com/post/113227487967/oh-my-goodness-allison-erica-1-this-makes-me)

Allison can’t breathe, and she spills chemicals barely thinking of her own survival. Erica isn’t supposed to look like that, Erica is supposed to open her eyes and laugh at her despair.

She doesn’t.

That night Allison drinks, heavily. She drinks until the imagined laughter doesn’t hurt, until she can feel claws in her thigh. If you asked her a week ago if Reyes’ death would affect her, she may have laughed. The blonde cocky werewolf whose nose ended up in Allison’s business all too often? No thanks. Yet here she is, halfway through a bottle of Jack, and she’s never felt like such a hunter.

Kate said she wouldn’t feel it until she killed an Alpha. Then again, Kate had been wrong about a lot of things. It was easier to see that now that she was gone.

Allison knocks another shot back, bitterness chasing down her throat. She’s asleep before it settles in her stomach.

She wakes up with dry mouth, and her stomach squeezing painfully around nothing. Her sheets are sticky- clothes too- the rest of the whiskey split between them. Dragging a hand over her face, she considers sleeping more. But a clock is blinking 1:48, and it’s far too bright to be morning.

Allison gets up with a stretch and curse- the shot glass having crashed beside her bed. Brushing off her foot, there’s only a few minor cuts, and one curved piece of glass that comes out smoothly. She’s too dead for this, and goes to shower first.

She’s shampooing her hair when her mind is working enough to think about Erica. She doesn’t bother conditioning, wrapping a towel around herself and picking up the glass bare-handed. It only distracts her enough for six minutes. There are muffled vibrations, and back in the bathroom she finds her phone with last night’s clothes.

It’s apparently a Wednesday, and Lydia has notes whenever she’s feeling better. Allison doesn’t think last night was a Tuesday, but certainly her Dad wouldn’t have just let her crash through an entire day? She winces and amends her thought- maybe not before, but after training he would.

Allison cleans her room until it’s cleaner than it’s been since they moved in here, and her laundry is done and folded down to the last spare sock. When Erica comes back into her head, and her head is still pounding, she goes downstairs. This time, she grabs the Svedka. It was left over from a holiday party, certainly not a bottle that would be missed. She thinks about grabbing some orange juice for a second before returning upstairs. It’s not for the taste anyways, she tells herself.

Allison’s getting better and better at lying to herself.

She doesn’t go to school until Monday, and doesn’t care about the days she missed nor the homework she didn’t bother to catch up on. She goes a half hour in History without thinking of Erica; she rewards herself with a ridiculous fantasy that she might wake up and find it’s all been an elaborate dream. In Chemistry, she can’t last a minute.

Isaac keeps giving her these looks, and it makes her feel guilty. She knows he knew her far better; it feels wrong to think about her so much near him. Allison knows this isn’t how to get over death, but she’s having a hard time convincing herself to. She can still see how fragile Erica was when she fell from the wall, can still feel her paralyzed and proud skin under her fingertips. Allison doesn’t want to let that go.

On Tuesday, only the expensive alcohol remains, and while tempted, she doesn’t touch any of the bottles. She calls Isaac instead, asking where he gets his weed. They end up meeting and smoking up together in Derek’s backyard. It’s even more peaceful than Allison had hoped. She can put all of her Erica feelings in a box, and bury it deep, deep within the ground.

It’s a temporary fix, though she doesn’t know it. Eventually the weeds would have grown up and out, all but shouting emotion. Allison doesn’t live long enough for that. And when she dies, it’s as if the box was never buried at all.

There’s a smirking Erica, brushing her dark hair behind her ear, saying, “Why Argent, I didn’t know you cared.”


End file.
